#131. Not Acting as in the Past
Cheongneung was a man who, surprisingly, had rarely made the wrong choice.
What brought him misfortune were always things beyond his control.
So even when granted a second life, he lived almost by inertia—simply choosing the best among the options presented to him.
Even if the outcome wasn’t always satisfying, he firmly believed it was the best life he could possibly attain.
His failures were so few that they could almost be counted on one hand. Until he met Baekryeon, he had never once questioned that belief.
—That doesn’t mean his entire handling of Baekryeon was a failure.
Even if he were reborn and had to live his life over again, he knew he would still treat Baekryeon the same way.
But in his final years—only in that final chapter of his life—things could have been different.
He could have restrained his emotions once more. He could have offered her encouragement instead of reprimand when she was placed under probation.
Had he only done that, perhaps she would not have died.
And when he encountered Baekryeon again, carrying that regret, she was already in the act of drinking poison. It was impossible for such a memory not to leave a trauma.
Because of that, though he usually never looked back on the past, Blanche alone made him constantly reflect upon it.
He found himself choosing paths that were not the “best” in his mind, but ones he had never dared to choose before.
“Isn’t it the same as the past? Why make such a fuss about past lives and reincarnations? If you failed once before, then don’t repeat it. If you succeeded, then try it again. Shouldn’t failures from a previous life be treated the same way? Actually, since you don’t even need to overcome them, isn’t that even easier?”
Unable to accept the premise, Liana voiced her thoughts bluntly. Berken gently added an explanation.
“Well, the circumstances and positions are different, aren’t they? There may be things you could do in the past that you can’t do now. Just because you could do something in a previous life doesn’t mean you can do it in this one.”
“Is that so?”
Liana set her cutlery down on the empty plate with flawless etiquette.
“Strangely enough, once your position changes, it’s often the case that choices you once had are no longer available.”
Her words carried a faint sharpness.
What choices had Liana lost upon becoming Empress?
What choices had Yeonnoksa lost when she went from Queen to General?
Melchizedek suddenly found himself wondering.
If Yeonnoksa had not become a general—if she had only remained in the position of former queen—would she still have killed her own child?
Or was the result already set in stone the moment Jahongwon died and Jacheongneung took his place?
A servant cleared the empty plates and brought out dessert.
Unlike the north, where sweets were mild, the capital overflowed with sugar, and the desserts were almost painfully sweet.
As Melchizedek tasted the rich sweetness of the brownie, he opened his mouth.
“What if… you don’t even know what caused the failure in your past life?”
He knew at the time that he shouldn’t have acted emotionally.
But whether another choice had truly been possible back then—he still didn’t know.
What more could Cheongneung have done for Baekryeon, who never cared for her own well-being? For Baekryeon, who never thought about what would happen after Cheongneung’s death?
If time were rewound for Cheongneung, he believed he could stop her from taking her own life.
But even then—what would become of her after his death? That he could not know.
It was a difficult question.
“Hm?”
“I mean, the past is just decades ago, so the social context still applies. The options are similar. But if, in a past life, the failure wasn’t caused by the choice itself but by the surrounding circumstances… then simply making the opposite choice this time wouldn’t necessarily solve anything, would it?”
Unable to admit outright that he remembered a past life, his words became increasingly abstract.
Even he no longer knew what answer he was seeking.
Hearing his rambling and uncertain question, Liana finished the last spoonful of pudding and smiled brightly.
“Melki.”
“…Forget I said anything.”
From the start, asking Liana about this had been a mistake.
It was just that seeing Blanche again after so long had left him unsettled.
Strangely, it was easier to feel confident in his choices when she wasn’t before his eyes.
But now, with her here and showing him an attitude he had never imagined, unease kept rising within him.
Was it really enough just to listen to her words? Or had their problems always been impossible to solve in the first place?
As if—
As if the death of Jahongwon had already determined the fate of his son.
If it was a problem that could not be solved merely by not responding emotionally in the final moment—if the issue had been building up within Baekryeon long before that—then perhaps he had already crossed a line in her heart much earlier.
“All events of the past were, at one time, something you experienced for the very first time.”
But Liana did not end the conversation there.
“So if a past experience doesn’t help with the present, just think of it as a different problem entirely. Focus on the now. Do the best you can in the present. And if it fails…”
Melchizedek lifted his eyes to meet hers.
Green eyes, like Yeonnoksa’s, but not quite the same, stared directly at him.
“…then whether it’s from a past life or just past experience, it means it was never going to help you anyway.”
Her firm voice, which dismissed the past so decisively, left Melchizedek with a sudden curiosity.
Do reincarnators always remember their past lives? Are there none who forget?
And if they resemble their past-life selves so much, are they truly separate beings at all?
After the meal, Melchizedek slowly made his way toward the Empress Dowager’s palace.
Normally, he would have taken a carriage or horse, as the palaces were some distance apart, but he needed time to think.
Through Liana’s words, everything seemed so simple.
Past life or present—it didn’t matter. If anything, memories of a past life were more convenient, since one bore no responsibility for those failures.
And if you couldn’t apply those memories properly, then just treat it as if it were your first time and do your best now.
But the problem was, Blanche occupied a hazy place between past and present for him.
He was no longer Jacheongneung, yet what stood between him and Blanche were the mistakes of Jacheongneung.
So what did it mean to “not act as in the past”?
He thought it was simply a matter of whether or not to obediently follow Baekryeon’s words.
He had respected her wishes before—he hadn’t proposed marriage because she didn’t want it. He couldn’t say he had entirely ignored her.
In fact, he had even persuaded her to allow him to continue courting her despite her wish to leave his side. Wasn’t that both disregarding her words and respecting her will at the same time? A choice opposite to that of his previous life?
Back then, he had thought it the best compromise—for both of them.
He could not let her go, and she needed room to breathe.
But what if that wasn’t the best? What if choosing with his past life in mind had not been the right path? If his final choice had become a blunder because of his emotions, should he have instead excluded emotions entirely and chosen with cold reason?
Though Liana’s words had seemed to clear his thoughts, they tangled again. He raked his fingers roughly through his hair.
“Oh, Your Majesty.”
Lost in thought, he found he had already reached the Empress Dowager’s palace. Dinner had ended quite a while ago, yet Blanche was only just leaving.
“Heading out now?”
“Yes, she was informing me of the recent changes in the palace.”
Blanche smiled. That smile was definitely different from the one she had in his previous life—lighter, freer.
Should he ask her? If not for his final choice, would she have stayed by his side?
If he had written to her, asking her to wait, would she have waited?
If so, could they have lived their lives together, had he only gone back far enough?
Or, if he didn’t go back that far, would their problems remain unsolvable?
Was she pushing him away now only because she felt betrayed by him? If he had cherished her unwaveringly to the end, would she have trusted him?
So now—was her problem a lack of trust in him, or a desire for revenge? If it was mistrust, shouldn’t he cling closer and keep singing his love?
Or was her wound too deep, and she just needed time to heal? And when she had healed, would she be able to tell him?
Questions he had never considered before—small but vital—spun on his tongue.
Was it possible to forget the past and build anew? Or was the wound unhealable, something to carry for life?
He grew impatient, desperate for answers—even ones he had never dared ask himself.
“Your Majesty?”
Blanche tilted her head lightly. Melchizedek bit his lip, then turned his steps.
“I’ll see you back to your quarters.”
